


(The Sign of) Three's a Crowd

by RobinMistySaddle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF John, Depression, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/Mary Morstan, F/M, Johnlockary - Freeform, Kink, Marylock - Freeform, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinMistySaddle/pseuds/RobinMistySaddle
Summary: Sherlock, Mary and John, but not happily ever after.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An Allegory

Mary Morstan Watson was bent over the couch with her hands braced against the wall. When she looked up, she could see that goofy yellow smiley face. Only right now, she wasn’t looking up. Or even had her eyes open. “For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, will you put it in me already? I’m almost there.” She moaned.

Sherlock knelt behind her. In his left hand he held a small vibe which he kept pressed against her clit. His right hand held her thigh as he nuzzled her ass, his tongue teasing her there. “Oh, all right.” Reluctantly he stood up and took a step back. Mary was naked save for her purple lace bra. The remainder of her clothes were tossed on a heap in the middle of the floor. Even though it was a cold day, she was warm inside the flat, between the heat being turned up and the vigorous fucking that Sherlock had been giving her.

Sherlock was naked too. Only he had been naked since before Mary had arrived. She had found him slouched naked in his chair, absent mindedly playing his violin, his cock erect, kept that way by a ring. The ring was still there, but since her arrival twenty minutes ago Sherlock had become very much engaged in this new task.

Mary opened her eyes and looked up at the smiley face. She just shook her head, waiting for Sherlock. She could hear him moving around behind him. She started to turn her head to look, but Sherlock commanded, “No. Look forward.” She turned back to look at the wallpaper and couch, a slight smile on her face.

She felt cold metal rub against her ass, and then wetness. She wiggled slightly as Sherlock rubbed lube around, and slipped a finger in and out, making sure she was ready. She felt the metal again, and with a slight push, felt it enter her and gasped slightly. It would be the metal plug with the jewel on the end. Sherlock, for some reason, liked seeing that in her. She just enjoyed the sensation of it in her as he fucked her.

Mary moaned as Sherlock moved in behind her and rubbed his cock over her clit and between her lips. She was more than ready for him. She tried to push back onto him, but he held her hips firmly and wouldn’t let her. She moaned more as he rubbed himself up and down her slit, the tip of his cock teasingly entering her only slightly and then it was back to rub against her clit. Up and down he went before sliding all the way into her in one stroke. She gasped loudly.

His hands grasped her shoulders as he started to fuck her hard. He moaned each time as he nearly slipped out before pushing all the way back into her. She moaned with each deep stroke. He reached down with his left hand and pulled the bra cup away from her tit and found her nipple. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and squeezing at it, rubbing it hard when needed to make her gasp in pleasure.

“Al...most...there,” she managed between his thrusts. His right hand left her shoulder and slipped between her legs to find her clit. “Ohhhhhhh,” she moaned, starting to lift up on her toes as her whole body started to tense up. “Ahhhhhhh.” Wave after wave of her orgasm pulsed through her as she started to come on Sherlock’s cock. He grabbed her hips and thrust hard into her three times before holding himself deep in her. He growled a deep low growl as he released deep inside her.

They stayed motionless for a few seconds before he slowly withdrew from her. Mary twisted slightly and flopped onto the couch, exhausted. Her legs were spread open, showing off the jeweled plug. She stared up at the ceiling, catching her breath, and began to absentmindedly rubbed her fingers over herself, signing contentedly. Sherlock’s cum started leaking out of her slightly. She could hear the water running in the lav; he was already cleaning himself up. “It’s always so much,” she called out to him, languidly playing with the liquid.

“Hmmm, yes,” he said as he walked back into the room. He was still naked, although his cock was no longer hard. Mary grinned, enjoying the view. “You know, he knows,” he said as he gazed out the front window, looking down onto Baker Street. The windows had the sheers drawn and he was back far enough that nobody on the street would even be able to tell he was there.

Mary sighed. “He doesn’t, though. He knows that we’re friends. Besides, I’m the Watson that’s now assisting you in your cases. We agreed to it. He was the one with the career, and it’s easier for me to come running at your beck and call to assist since I’m not tied down at the moment.” She pulled the cup back up over her left breast. “You were a little rough there.”

“You didn’t object.” He slunk down into his chair and glanced over at her. “You look good like that.”

“As a well-fucked woman?” She grinned.

“Yes.” Sherlock touched the fingertips of his hands together and started tapping them, pinky to pointer, rhythmically, watching them as he did. “He knows, but he doesn’t say anything. Because if he did his fantasy world would crumble.”

Mary snorted. “Fantasy world? He doesn’t have a single idea of a fantasy in his head. I ask him, ‘What would you like to do?’ It’s always, ‘I’d love to go down on you.’ Not that I’m complaining. He has a wonderful tongue, but he has no sense of adventure at all.”

Sherlock stopped tapping his fingers and looked at her. “No, this ideal world of his. His perfect wife. His beautiful child. His job. His best friend.”

“I think,” Mary said, standing up, cupping herself so as not to make a complete mess, “that he no longer considers you his best friend.” She waddled slowly into the lav.

“Leave the plug in,” Sherlock called. “Why, because of that joke t-shirt I gave him for his birthday?”

“Yes,” she called as she sat on the toilet, letting his cum slowly drip out of her. “Magnusson really fucked with his mind. And then the shirt really humiliated him. That’s when he stopped coming around here so much. It wasn’t that the practice was all that busy. But after that he made sure to find lots to do at the practice to keep busy. I heard it from some of the nurses. His office and his files became impeccable. Deep down he was quite furious. I think it’s one of the few times in his life he actually expressed an opinion to me. I believe he called you a “psychotic ass.’”

“He should have said something.” He bit at his finger nails slightly.

“To you?” Mary reappeared from the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe between the living room and kitchen. “What would he have said? He never would say anything to you, he would just go with it. You would text him to come immediately, he would drop everything, and only when he got here would ask what it was, even if it was just that you were out of Bovril. Which, of course, he would run out and fetch. I love him dearly, but he is a man without an ounce of personal ambition.” She trailed off, looking down at the floor before she looked up and asked brightly, “You want a cuppa?” She headed back into the kitchen.

“Sure,” he replied, admiring her form as she stood at the stove.

“You know, he’s started listening to The Archers. The Archers!” She rummaged through the cabinets before pulling out two tea cups. “Seven o’clock, he puts it on. Then he checks the day’s cricket scores and by nine he’s in bed. Greenwich could set their clocks by him.”

Sherlock shrugged. “You’re much more capable than he is in helping me, although it would be nice to have his medical expertise around every now and then.”

“In case I shoot you again?” She leaned against the doorframe again, watching him tap his fingers, until the kettle started whistling. “He’s drinking,” she called as she poured the tea, letting it steep. “A lot. But only on the nights I’m out late. He thinks I can’t tell, but it’s very obvious.” She brought the cups in and set them on the end table next to Sherlock’s chair, ignoring the two empty coasters that had been pushed to the side and now a slight layer of dust coated them. She sat down on Sherlock’s lap, nestling into him. “You give me what he can’t. He’s a wonderful husband and father. He takes care of us very well. But I need more. I come home at night, and over dinner he asks me how my day was, we exchange pleasantries about our job, but that’s it. He just...sits there. I’d almost say he’s boring.”

“See, his fantasy world.” Sherlock turned his head to look back at the window. “As long as he doesn’t ask, as long as he doesn’t push it, it won’t come crashing down on him. You get to live the life you’ve always wanted and he can keep imagining everything is fine, but deep down he knows. He might be an idiot at times, but even some things he should be able to figure out.” He turned to look back at Mary. “Not that this would stop, would it?”

“No, it wouldn’t.” She reached down to play with his cock and felt it get semi-hard in her hand. “What shall we do this time?”

“I have a length of cotton rope in the closet,” Sherlock said, sliding his hand around the curve of Mary’s ass and rubbing the plug, causing her to sigh. “I think I have some thoughts about what we can do with it.”

\- - -

It was a dreary November day. John Watson stood on Baker Street across from 221B, shivering slightly, even as he pulled his coat tighter around him. This wasn’t the first time he had followed his wife here. He had discreetly asked Mycroft if he had Sherlock and Mary working on a case, and he knew from Donovan that Lastrade hadn’t contacted Sherlock about anything that was stumping the Yard. Donovan had also been the one who had sent him the picture of Sherlock and Mary in the alley several months ago. She had always been kind to him, although sometimes it seemed more out of pity than anything else.

Ever since the baby was born, he had tried to do the responsible thing. It was better for him to be at the practice, with a relatively set schedule and steady pay, so he could get home every night to Mary. That meant less time with Sherlock, who was more than capable without him. When after nine months Mary suggested that since the baby was old enough to go to a day nursery that she wouldn’t mind assisting Sherlock, John thought nothing of it, especially since she always seemed to be stir-crazy when he got home in the evening. Not long after Sherlock had given him that stupid gift, humiliating him yet again. He had told Mary he didn’t mind if she continued to work cases with him, but he was done. So they settled into their routines. Until he got that picture from Sally.

How had he missed it? He asked himself that question every day, going over in his head all the things that Mary had told him. Since he wasn’t speaking with Sherlock all he had was what Mary had said. Between him at the practice and Mary assisting on cases they saw each other less and less. Was that it, just simply opportunity? Mary was more like Sherlock than John, maybe not as curious, but in for an adventure. After Afghanistan, and then the cases with Sherlock, John wanted something more sedate, which he thought he had found with Mary. Was that it, different interests?

His right hand fumbled with the mobile in the pocket of his coat, debating whether or not to text her. He had been tempted to text her that picture ever since he had gotten it, curious to see exactly what her response would be. He could text it to Sherlock as well, but that sociopath wouldn’t care other than to tell Mary in that matter-of-fact manner of his. If he was going to show it to either of them, it would have to be Mary.

He wasn’t the same man when Mary first met him. Too many poor choices of meals, too little exercise. He was no longer the dashing man, eager for adventure. And the mustache. Both of them be damned, he liked it and he grew it back. Then there were the many nights now that she was gone with Sherlock. Mary didn’t know about the drinking, never when she was home, but he would sit in the study with his scotch, contemplating his pistol. It would lie there on front of him and he would just stare at it. Cold and metallic, a precision instrument, really no different than the tools of the medical trade, just with a slightly different purposes. After he had enough to drink, he would put the pistol away and stagger off to bed, wondering why she had even wanted him in the first place.

He sighed. If he texted her, then what? Mary would leave, there would be a divorce, alimony, custody most likely to Mary... John shook his head. It wasn’t worth it. No, it would just be better for everybody for him to keep his mouth shut and go about his daily business. Mary could have the fun and excitement she craved, both on a case and in the bedroom. He would just keep going to work, coming home, and being the dutiful husband. He could feign ignorance; it’s what they expected of him anyway. Not that he would have figured any of it out on his own. Sherlock was right to give him that fucking shirt. Maybe he should ask Mary where she had put it and wear it for the whole world to see.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and texted the practice that his lunch ran long and he was on his way back. He slipped it back into his pocket and looked up at the windows on the second floor. He couldn’t see anything through the sheers. He turned and started heading towards the Tube.

**Author's Note:**

> Because of certain factions of Sherlock fandom, I feel the need to say that I do like Mary and think she is a wonderful character.


End file.
